When they handed his burrito-swaddled brand-new little self to me in the hospital, I literally gasped because it looked like someone had thrown my husband into the hot cycle of the dryer, shrunk him down, and stuck a tiny snow hat on him. He is a total Mini Mr.

Watching them sometimes, being all twinny-looking and laughing at the same jokes (because a boy is a boy is a boy, no matter how old… so burps and made up words are mega funny,) and just generally matching each other, I feel a little left out.

Where is the part of him that is from mommy? What of me reflects through him?

It isn’t much, but there is one thing. Music.

My kid is straight up mine when it comes to musical taste right now – he doesn’t go in for any “Grateful Deadful” junk that daddy tries to lay on us in his car. NO NO – he is all in for the mom jamz.

HOWEVER – since he is 4, he is smack in the center of the “if I love something I will play/read/listen to/watch it over and over until everyone near me kind of wants to kill whatever it is dead” phase.

So with that in mind I present to you, the only two songs my kid will listen to:

This honky tonk lament, which takes a second to get actually going, that he refers to as “The Fibble Song” (Fiddle)

And this little piece of punk perfection which he requests by commanding “PLAY OK, PLAY OK” from the back seat of the MUV.

That he loves these two so fiercely and so equally fills me with parental pride.

Yep… he’s just like mom.

(Treasure the thoughts of your shared fart jokes while you listen to your crunchy jam-bands alone, husband – Jr’s on board the momma music train.)

Reluctantly Suburban Eats

Recipes: Eat, Drink, and be Keri

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